Terms of Endearment
by Call Me Babykins
Summary: The story behind "Bitch" and "Jerk." Established Wincest. Sam is 15, Dean is 19.
1. Disclaimer

The following is intended only for mature audiences. Discretion is advised. Contains graphic depictions of incest, frottage, and anal intercourse with a minor. Includes homophobic dialogue and explicit profanity.

Supernatural and its characters belong to Eric Kripke. Cover image is a screen capture from episode 1x1 Pilot. It's not mine either, I just edited it slightly for use on ff.


	2. Bitch

Dean pretended that he didn't see the first time. Of course he fucking noticed the dirt on Sam's pants and how he favored his right hand where the knuckles were all bruised and how red his eyes were, but he didn't say anything. Not the first time.

It happened again less than a week later and Dean couldn't just ignore that Sam had a broken wrist, but he acted as though he couldn't tell that Sam had been crying again. Just splinted his wrist and gave him shit for fighting at school and not beating the shit out of the other kid before they hurt him. He knew something was wrong, knew there was something he ought to be protecting Sam, his little Sammy, his baby brother from, but they'd just fought about how overprotective he was. And Sam thought Dean shouldn't've put the last bully who touched his Sammy in the hospital. That he should've let Sam deal with it himself. So Dean tried.

He tried so fucking hard. And he even did pretty well. Well, for a week. Until Sam came home with bruises on his ribs and tears streaming down his face.

He managed not to say anything while Sam hugged him. Just stroked his ridiculously long hair and bit his tongue so hard it bled. But later that night when they were lying together mostly naked on their bed Dean noticed that Sam's bruises had fully formed, revealing shoe impressions a couple different sizes. Then Dean couldn't fucking bite his tongue hard enough.

"Who the fuck did that?"

Sam, already half-asleep, put on a confused face. "What're you talking about?"

Dean laid a hand on one of the bruises. He'd meant to push hard, make it hurt, but his hand had slowed just before he made contact and landed gently, tenderly. Mad as he was, he couldn't hurt Sam. Not on purpose. "Who gave you these?"

"No one, Dean, I—" Sam's voice quavered like he was scared. No, like he was about to cry again. The sound made Dean's stomach turn. "I tripped."

"Bullshit."

"Please, Dean, I don't want to talk about it."

"No, Sam. I kept my mouth shut because I knew you'd throw a bitchfit, but—"

And just like that, like a switch had been flipped, Sam was crying, shoulders shaking, choking on sobs. Equal parts contrite and terrified, Dean reached for him, cradled Sam in his arms.

"Sam," he whispered. "Sam, _Sammy_, baby, what happened?"

Sam spoke into Dean's chest, nearly inaudible, shaky. "I didn't know what to do. I'm not like you. I can't just hide things, I can't just act cool—the guys from the complex down the street jumped me … I didn't know what to do."

"Sammy, on a good day you can kick _my_ ass. Why would you let them hurt you?"

Sam was quite for a long time, his breath still hitching, but no longer quiet.

"They called me a faggot."

Dean sucked in a harsh breath, but before he could speak Sam was talking again.

"They've been on me since we got here. Called me all kinds of names. Freak. Fag. I didn't think they'd actually do anything. They're just assholes. A couple weeks ago … They-they called me …"

Dean bit back an angry reply. He knew from the way Sam's voice had trailed off, from the nervous patterns Sam's fingers were making on his arms, from the way Sam's neck and face were flushed red and hot against him that there was more.

Sam's voice was thick with shame. "They started slapping my ass and telling me to suck them off and …" He drew a trembling breath. "They called me bitch. C'mere, bitch. Down on all fours, bitch. Suck my cock, bitch. "

Before Dean could respond Sam was talking again, stumbling over his words as if he had to get it out so that Dean would understand, so that Dean wouldn't hate him.

"I know what you're going to say—that I shouldn't've let them do it and I shouldn't listen to them because they're little shitheads, but, Dean, they're_ right_. I know they're right. What we do? What I am? I'm a fucking little faggot. A little freak. A little _bitch_." Sam's voice broke on the last word.

Dean stroked Sam's hair for a moment as Sam began crying again, desperately fighting the urge to kill the fuckers who had made his beautiful Sammy doubt who he was or what they had. He knew that Sam would see any anger in Dean's response as anger _at_ him. Then, when he was breathing easily again, Dean reached down and tilted Sam's face up toward him.

Sam's face was red from crying and he looked fucking terrified. It was physically painful knowing that that expression was partially fear that Dean would think he was a bitch too.

Dean pressed his lips to Sam's carefully, trying to impress on his little brother just how precious he was. Sam clung to Dean, still shaking. He tasted like tears; Dean felt one fall and run down a spot where their cheeks touched.

When the kiss broke, Dean leaned in and pressed his forehead to Sam's.

"D'you know what "bitch" means to fuckers like that, Sammy?"

Sam shook his head. His breath was heavy and hot against Dean's cheek.

"It means you're so fucking smart you make them feel like the idiots from bumfuck, nowhere that they are. It means you're so confident, so sassy, such a fucking smart alec that you make them feel like shit every time they look at you." Dean kissed Sam's forehead. "Means you're so fucking hot it makes them question their sexuality. Means they're _jealous_, baby boy."

Sam pulled back and looked at him, skeptical, but not crying anymore. That, at least, was progress. "Really?"

"Fuck yes, _really_, Sam." Dean cradled Sam's face in his hand. Fuck, Sam was so pretty. ""Bitch" is a good thing."

Sam smiled tentatively_, _like he was starting to believe Dean.

"Besides, you're _my_ bitch. And that's enough to make all those repressed bastards jealous."

Sam punched him playfully, but Dean could tell that he liked the idea that the boys who teased him for his sexuality secretly pined for the kind of relationship they had. Which was fucking good, because he was never letting Sam go anywhere.

Dean leaned in and kissed Sam again, opening his mouth with little nips. He rolled on top of Sam, holding him in place so he had access to kiss his brother properly. Sam spread his legs around Dean's hips, letting their crotches rub together. He arched against Dean.

Dean pulled away, nuzzling his little brother's neck. Sam bucked against him, already hard, straining in his boxers. Fucking teenagers, able to go from miserable to rock hard in seconds.

Sam probably wanted Dean to fuck him, but Dean couldn't pull away long enough. He needed to be right there, skin on Sam's, showing his Sammy how much he needed him. He rutted against Sam, tasting his mouth with long, tender laps of his tongue. Sam responded eagerly, sucking Dean's tongue with technique that made Dean's cock twitch.

When Sam came, Dean leaned back just far enough to watch, drinking in the way Sam gasped for air, eyes closed, teeth gritted, nails biting into Dean's shoulders. He pumped his hips, rubbing his cock against the wet stain in Sam's boxers, working Sam through his orgasm.

Sam blinked up at him, hips twitching as Dean fucked against his sensitive cock relentlessly. Then Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's neck, tugging him down for a deep kiss.

"They _should_ be fucking jealous," Sam panted.

The fucked-out sound of Sam's voice was just enough to send Dean over the edge. He came hard, holding Sam tight against him. He could feel Sam's heartbeat pounding against him.

It probably wasn't smart. He knew he shouldn't've said it the moment it came out of his mouth, but Dean was too high from his orgasm. He whispered, "Such a good bitch, Sammy. My little bitch."

Sam stiffened instantly and Dean pulled back.

"Shit, Sam, I'm sorry—"

Sam reached up and stroked his cheek. "'s okay. Like it coming out of your mouth."

Dean grabbed Sam's hand and kissed it. "I still shouldn't—"

"Don't be an ass, Dean." Sam pushed against him until Dean rolled over. "I'm your bitch. I'm _more than_ okay with that."

"I don't mean to be such a jerk, Sammy."

"I love you, even if you are a jerk." Sam gave Dean a peck on the lips and rolled off the bed. "I'm going to get cleaned up."

"Bitch." The word rolled off his tongue so easily. Dean could've killed himself.

But Sam just glanced back at him and smiled.

"Jerk."


	3. Jerk

Sam pretended like it was an accident, a slip of the tongue, the first time it happened. He'd actually been planning, waiting for the exact right moment for weeks. He knew that if he didn't time it carefully, he might lose what had rapidly become his favorite thing about his relationship with Dean.

So he waited until Dean was in a playful mood, high off of adrenaline and a hunt that shouldn't've gone nearly as well as it had. Then he elbowed Dean, right in his side where he was real ticklish though he'd never admit it, and said, "Jerk."

"Bitch." The response was instantaneous, automatic, and the horror in Dean's eyes as he realized what he'd just said, _in front of Dad_, was just as immediate.

But Dad didn't look up from the handgun he was cleaning. "Boys. Behave," was all he said.

"Yessir." Their response, in perfect unison, was another convenient autopilot feature.

Sam grinned at his older brother who was white as a sheet, more terrified than Sam had ever seen him. Dean glared.

When they were alone together that night—Dad off meeting another hunter in the local bar—Sam thought he was going to have to explain himself. He'd been practicing what he'd say, how he'd get it through to Dean.

"I just thought it'd be nice," he'd say, letting his bangs fall over his face as though he was ashamed of himself. "I just wanted us to have a way to say "you look so fucking hot today," or "I wish we were fucking right now," or, I don't know, "I love you" in public."

But when Dean kissed him, drawing Sam into his lap, all soft and solid, Sam knew he didn't have to say anything. Dean understood.

"Fuck, Sammy," Dean hissed into his hair, running his hands up and down Sam's back. "Nearly gave me a heart attack."

Sam just grinned. He knew that Dean wasn't actually complaining, just filling his obligatory grousing quota.

"Liar." Sam nipped at Dean's ear. "I saw your fucking hardon."

Dean smiled, his gaze unfocused, happy. "Yeah, there's that too."

"I can take care of that for you. Y'know … If you're not still in danger of a major coronary inci—" Sam sucked in a sharp breath as Dean grabbed his cock, palming it through his jeans.

"Fucking tease."

All of a sudden it was really important that Sam get his fucking jeans off, Dean's too. He retrieved the bottle of lube from a pocket and fumbled the button fly open.

"Need a little help?" Dean looked just a little too smug, sitting perfectly still, hands on Sam's hips, watching his little brother struggle.

"Jerk."

Dean leaned in, wrapping Sam up until he was surrounded on all sides by his big brother's heat, his familiar scent.

"Bitch," Dean breathed. Sam shivered at the sensation of Dean's breath on his skin.

Sam wasn't sure how his jeans, which had been giving him so much trouble, and Dean's, which he hadn't even touched yet, disappeared so quickly, but he wasn't complaining when he was finally straddling Dean's naked lap, cocks pushed together between their bare torsos.

Dean gripped Sam's ass, pulling just a little, exposing him to the cool air. Sam hissed, bucking forward, rutting against Dean. So fucking good.

"Dean," Sam hissed.

Even though he was leaning down, face tucked against Dean's neck, he could tell Dean was grinning as he grabbed the lube. Sam jumped as Dean drizzled the cold liquid down the crack of his ass.

"Shit, that's _cold_. Bastard." Sam leaned forward, away from the icy trickle, riding up hard against Dean's cock.

Dean just chuckled, holding Sam still, hands spanning from Sam's hips to brush the dimples above his ass, as he thrust upward. Sam moaned, cock twitching hard against Dean's, trapped between their bodies. It had always been like this—each of them teasing the other—because, even in bed, they were still brothers.

Dean tapped a finger against Sam's entrance, letting the tip dip in just a little, slick with cold lube, and Sam jumped, digging his nails into Dean's back.

"That's right, Sammy, bear down a little for me," Dean's voice was rough, excited. "Let me in."

Sam whimpered. The sound was involuntary, but the reaction it garnered from Dean cancelled out any embarrassment it may have caused. Dean growled, tugging Sam closer, pressing a finger into Sam's body, twisting and thrusting.

Sam pressed back against Dean's hand. Fuck, he loved the feeling of Dean inside him. Dean drew out slowly, purposefully catching the rim. Sam shivered. Dean always prepped him slowly, afraid to hurt him, and Sam let him—it wasn't like fingering wasn't pleasurable—but he didn't usually need it. And, just then, one finger wasn't gonna cut it.

"Enough," Sam took the lube, drizzling the cold liquid over Dean's cock between them. He leaned in and kissed Dean, jacking him, twisting his fist over the crown where it was wet with precome, slicking Dean up.

Sam leaned back so that he could watch Dean's face as his lined his brother up and sank down just a little. It was his turn to tease. Before Dean's cock breached the ring of muscle, Sam rocked upward. He moved slowly, taunting, getting so close to penetration and then pulling back. Dean groaned.

"Sammy," Dean reprimanded, low and threatening.

The next time Sam sank down, he let Dean inside him finally, almost let the head enter fully, but he pulled away at the last second. Dean bucked upward, but Sam had pulled away just in time and the head of Dean's cock caught his rim and then glanced off making them both moan.

Sam smirked, worrying Dean's jawline with his teeth, fucking Dean's cock between his ass cheeks.

"_Bitch_." Dean's voice was tight.

Sam pulled back to smile sweetly and press his lips gently to Dean's. "Jerk," he let his tongue click hard on the k, still teasing.

But he could tell Dean was about to get truly irritated so Sam reached back to guide his brother in. He sank down, breath hitching a little as he finally let Dean inside him, until he felt the slight catch as his body closed around the head of Dean's cock.

Dean murmured his approval, drawing Sam back in for a kiss. Sam took advantage of the distraction to lift up until Dean almost slipped out of him and then drive himself down hard until Dean was seated, balls deep, inside him.

"_Shit_! Motherfucking _fuck_, Sam," Dean's hips stuttered. He bit Sam's bottom lip, sucking into his mouth and winding his hands into Sam's hair, pulling just a little, just the way Sam liked it.

Sam rode Dean hard, swiveling his hips at the bottom of every down stroke, drawing little breathless noises from his brother that he knew Dean would deny to his dying day, until he was shaking. Dean made no effort to control the pace, tugging at Sam's hair and nipping Sam's neck and shoulder, but not moving his hips.

As Sam's thighs began to feel the burn of the repetitive motion, he realized Dean was purposefully being uncooperative; paying him back, tease for tease. And, oh, Sam was going to make sure Dean thought twice about doing that again.

Sam fumbled over Dean's chest, hands trembling, unable to see through the mess Dean was making of his hair, and rubbed his palms over Dean's nipples, pinching them lightly. He clenched the muscles of his ass sharply at the bottom of each stroke; Dean was practically panting, moaning a sweet stream of _fuckyeahSammysogoodlittleboy goodbitchfuckingloveitsonofa bitchSamfuck_ into Sam's mouth. He was close; Sam knew all the signs: thighs trembling, pulling Sam's hair just a little too hard, more breathing into Sam's mouth than kissing anymore—wet and dirty.

Sam pressed a kiss to the corner of Dean's mouth, gently sinking down until Dean was buried in him, keeping his breathing as even as possible though it felt as though every nerve end was on fire. Dean had frozen, his entire body tensed up; Sam could feel Dean's cock twitching deep inside him. Sam dug his fingernails into Dean's back, steeling himself as he exhaled shakily, relaxing his entire body to let Dean sink into him completely.

Dean seized, his entire body arching up against Sam, mouth open soundlessly as he came. And fuck, Dean was _so deep_ inside him, hot and hard and fucking twitching. All Sam needed was the involuntary bucking of Dean's hips, and the chance brushing of the head of his cock over Dean's stomach to send him over the edge.

He barely registered the breathless "Sammy, fuck. So beautiful, baby," as Dean finally pitched in, rocking his hips up, working Sam through his orgasm.

It was only after the last wave of spasms had rolled through him that Sam registered how sweaty they both were, how he could smell Dean's sweat on him, how they were kissing open-mouthed and messy, how slick he was inside, Dean's come trickling out of him.

"I love you." The admission was nearly inaudible; it was the only time Dean said it—outright like that—in the fuzzy post-orgasm high.

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's torso, cuddling close. Dean returned the embrace, holding Sam, still buried inside Sam's body.

"Love you too."

"Even if you're a fucking tease." Dean nipped Sam's ear, lapping into it until Sam giggled and pulled away.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Looking at Dean, Sam knew his older brother truly believed what he had said about the name. Dean really believed that Sam was smart enough, beautiful enough, and, fuck him for using the word, _sassy_ enough to make anyone jealous; that _they_ were enough together to warrant the envy of the entire world. Sam wasn't convinced that the boys who'd tortured him with it did it because they were in the closet, but Dean fucking was. And that was enough.


End file.
